Sunday, July 3, 2011
Dancer on the Dark Dream
I'm falling through a hell of my own design and as I fall angels whisper names for me into my soul.
Are angels real? Is hell real? Am I real?
I don't know.
Most of the names I like.
Keeper of the Cosmic Crayon.
Warrior of the Wasted Dream.
I don't know what they mean but I like the sound of these titles for myself spun out of my mind.
I hate the the title; Dancer on the Dark Dream but it is part of me too.
What does it mean? Does it mean anything?
I love all the people on this planet in a way most people can't imagine. Hate is a coward's emotion.
I pity the rich men that tried to put me in prison for telling the truth. I was such a liar. It's a joke on me that I told a truth that was the greatest fear of poor men that had great wealth. Cowards that hide behind mountains of money. Poor in imagination and poor in truth.
Who owns the land that Union Station Kansas City sits on?